


World Rent

by IsaacTheGreat69



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Rent - Larson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - RENT Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-06 00:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsaacTheGreat69/pseuds/IsaacTheGreat69
Summary: A story following a year in the life of 8 young men in NYC who all have their own regrets, loves, and losses.





	1. How we gonna pay?

**Author's Note:**

> Mikkel Densen - Denmark  
> Alfred Jones - America  
> Berwald Oxenstierna - Sweden  
> Ludwig Beilschmidt - Germany  
> Francis Bonnefoy - France  
> Arthur Kirkland - England  
> Tino Väinämöinen - Finland  
> Matthew Williams - Canada

**_ Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes / Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear / Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes / How do you measure - measure a year? / In daylights - in sunsets / In midnights - in cups of coffee / In inches - in miles / In laughter - in strife / In - five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes / How do you measure / A year in the life / How about love? _ **

Mikkel Densen liked to film, more than anything. He rode around the streets of New York as a young adult, recording the lives of those around him. He had many videos he made; some he kept, some he destroyed. Currently, at the tail end of the year 1989, he was working on a documentary of homeless life on the streets of the Big Apple. He was hoping to make something of himself, to strike gold, and create something awe-inspiring. 

So far, it was just.... well, shit.

He sighs, packing up his camera and hopping on his bike, muttering to himself.

“How can I document real life when it feels more like fiction each day? The headlines and breadlines just blow my mind! But now we've got this deadline - eviction or pay....”

Alfred Jones, Mikkel’s long time friend and roommate, sat in their apartment, plucking at the strings of his guitar frustratedly between scribbling in his notebook. He angrily scratches out a line. 

“Dammit, how can I write a song when every chord just sounds wrong? It used to be so easy; every chord was right, the combinations and patterns rare-” 

The lights shut off with a decisive zap, and he groans, getting up and heading for the breaker. 

“The notes have just gone sour I guess - where is the power? - I used to be able to ignite the air!”

He opens the breaker and flips the switch, causing it to spark, and he pulls his hand back, clutching it to his chest. 

Mikkel shivered as he pulled up to the complex, hopping off his bike and hefting it into his arms, pulling the door open. “We’re hungry and frozen, some life we’ve chosen...” He rips the eviction notice off the wall and reads it as he walks, entering his apartment and looking up into the dim city-lit open floor layout. He sees Alfred and heads over to him, holding out the paper, and they seem to voice their thoughts at the same time. 

“How we gonna pay last years rent?”

Alfred looks up at Mikkel, slightly wide-eyed. Just as he’s about to say something, the phone rings, and Mikkel runs over to answer it. 

“ _Hallo_?”

“ _Hej_ , gu’ss who’s b’ck ‘n town. (Hey, _guess who's back in town_.)” Then, as if they didn’t expect him to guess, “It’s Ox'n. Throw down the k’ys. ( _It's Oxen. Throw down the keys._ )” 

Berwald "Oxen" Oxenstierna was an old university friend of Mikkel’s, then later Alfred’s. Mikkel and Berwald had bonded over their shared Baltic heritage, and Mikkel had introduced Alfred and Berwald not long after. Mikkel smiles and jogs out onto the balcony as Berwald hangs up his end of the line. He looks down and sees Berwald standing in the street, smiling up at him. Mikkel tosses the keys down with an excited “hey!” and heads back inside. 

As Berwald is heading to the front door of the complex, three men walk up to him, one asking if he has a light. When he reaches for his old zippo, one of the other men attacks him, and before he knows it he’s fighting off the three of them. He runs for the alley, the men close behind, and they catch up to him, punching him around until he falls and kicking and punching him until he stops moving. 

Alfred and Mikkel had started lighting candles around the apartment, realizing their power wasn’t coming back on any time soon. Alfred grumbles under his breath, rubbing his arms. He loved Christmas time in the Big Apple, but did it have to be so damn cold?

“How do you start a fire when there’s nothing to burn and it feels like something’s stuck in the flue?” 

Mikkel looks over at him, eyebrow raised. “At least you're generating heat, I can't feel my feet! They’re turning blue dude, look!” He waves a newly-bare foot in Alfred’s direction.

Alfred sighs and Mikkel runs off, coming back with a script. “We can light up a  _ mean  _ blaze with all these old posters and screenplays.” Alfred nods and grabs his old rock posters while Mikkel lights up his script, holding it out to light Al’s poster. They toss the burning papers into a trash bin and look at each other over the warm flame. 

“How we gonna pay last year’s rent, Al?” Alfred frowns at his friend, watching the shadows dance across his face. 

“I dunno bro, but we gotta figure somethin’ out fast.”

In the alley, Berwald groans as he gets up on his hands and knees, then slowly pulls himself up against the wall. “How do y’ st’y on y’r feet wh’n ‘very night it’s tr’ck ‘r treat, ‘nd t’nigh’ it’s tr’ck? _(How do you stay on your feet when every night is trick or treat, and tonight it's trick?_ )” He gives a derisive snort. “W’lcome back t’ town. ( _Welcome back to town_.)” His head spins and he stumbles slightly, sinking back to the ground. “Oh, I sh’ld lie d’wn... I feel s’ck... ( _Oh, I should lie down... I feel sick.._.)”

Mikkel runs back out to the balcony, looking up and down the street. “Where is he?”

All down the street, as well as above and below them, other residents who likewise can’t pay their rent, are angry, and probably had their power shut off too, are burning their eviction notices, letting them fall to the ground in an eerily beautiful shower of softly descending flames and charred paper. The boys head back inside, grabbing more scripts and posters. Mikkel smirks over at Alfred, taking on an official tone, trying to sound like a critic. 

“The music ignites the night with passionate fire!” He tosses the poster in the trash bin to watch it burn. Alfred smirks and flips through a script. 

“The narration crackles and pops with incendiary wit.” He tosses it in as well and Mikkel snorts. 

“You don’t even know how to  _ spell  _ incendiary.” Al sticks his tongue out, and Mikkel mimes holding a camera up to the flames. “Zoom in as they burn the past to the ground and feel the heat of the future’s glow.” 

“Hauntingly poetic.”

“Thanks Al, I try.”

Mikkel helps Alfred in carrying the burning trash bin to the balcony, then helps him turn it over, adding their scraps to the rain of fire.  Out in the street, a familiar truck is honking at tenants who’ve taken to the street, shouting angrily.  The truck stops, and a familiar blond, tall, muscular man with blue eyes gets out. “Draw a line in the sand and then make a stand. But do it out of the public roadways, you’re in the way!”

Mikkel smirks and starts chanting, “We’re not gonna pay! We’re not gonna pay! We’re not gonna pay!” By the third repetition, the rest of the street has joined in, and the blond man rubs his temples as the street-goers shout in frighteningly loud unison: “We’re not gonna pay last year’s rent! This year’s rent! Next year’s rent!” Alfred and Mikkel laugh as they watch the protesters head inside. The man turns back to his car, shouting at the homeless man leaning on it to go away. 

Mikkel leans over the railing of their balcony. “You know, Ludwig, that attitude toward the homeless is exactly what Francis is protesting!” The man, Ludwig, looks up at that, scowling until he sees Mikkel, then his expression softens just slightly. “Francis is  _ protesting  _ losing his performance space, not my attitude. Come down here, I want to talk to you.” Mikkel and Alfred look at each other, Mikkel heading down, and Alfred glances down, noticing the man who lives below them smiling slightly at him. He stares for a moment before he follows Mikkel out into the street. 


	2. Time Flies, Time Dies

Mikkel brought his camera down with him, and as Ludwig gets out of his car again, he starts talking with a smirk on his face as Ludwig starts ripping down Francis’ ad posters off the wall. “Close-up, Ludwig Beilschmidt, our ex-roommate, who’s lifetime partners with Feliciano Vargas of the Westport Vargas...es. While we’re happy he found a man to be happy with in times such as these, his father-in-law - kinda? - bought several buildings on the block and a nearby vacant lot, home to Tent City. Ludwig hopes to evict all the homeless from Tent City and build a Cyber Studio.” The last two words were said with obvious disdain.

During this speil, Alfred had gotten bored and hopped onto the hood of Ludwig’s rover, kicking his feet idly. Ludwig completely ignores Mikkel and turns to Alfred, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance. “Alfred. You’re looking good for someone coming off of a year of withdrawl.” Alfred grimaces and looks away, and Mikkel lowers his camera with a sigh. “What do you want, Lud?”

Ludwig turns to him. “What do I want? Well, my investor-“

“You mean your father-in-law?” 

Ludwig shifts uncomfortably. ”...Right. - read about Francis’ performance in the Village Voice. He got angry and sent me down here to collect the rent.” Reminded of his mission, Ludwig straightens up, shoulders back and chest puffed out slightly with an air of authority. 

Mikkel raises an eyebrow. “What rent?”

“Last year’s rent, which I let slide.” He says this as if it’s their fault they have to pay now. Mikkel scoffs. “You let - you said we were golden!” Alfred cuts in. “When you bought the building.” Mikkel tacks on, “When we were roommates? Remember, you lived here?”

Ludwig gestures vaguely. “Yeah, how could I forget; you, me, Oxen, and Francis.” He wanders back over toward the cluster of ad posters, looking at Francis’ smug face. “How is the drama queen?”

Mikkel rolls his eyes. “He’s getting ready for his performance.”

“I know.” Ludwig states simply. “Still his production manager?” 

Mikkel shifts awkwardly, glancing at Alfred, who gives him a sympathetic look. “Not exactly...”

“Still dating?”

Mikkel sighs in exasperation, if not a bit morosely. “I was dumped.”

“He find a more snobby artist?”

“Well... No.”

“What’s his name?”

Mikkel and Alfred answer at the same time, Alfred looking more exasperated than Mikkel. “Matthew.”

Ludwig just looks at them for a moment before laughing. “Y-your  _ half-brother _ , Alfred?” When Alfred does nothing but grimace and nod, Ludwig laughs harder. 

“Thanks for being so understanding.” Mikkel grumbles. Alfred pipes up, obviously annoyed, “You expect sympathy from the guy who  _ shut off our power  _ on Christmas Eve?”

Ludwig turns around from ripping down another poster. “Got your attention, didn’t it?”

Alfred huffs and hops off the hood of the car, marching up to Ludwig and poking him in the chest. “Dude, what happened to you? You’re such a goddamn asshole. You weren’t always like this.” Ludwig simply shrugs him off. “Any owner of the lot over there has a right to do with it as he pleases.” He says in response to the earlier accusation. 

Alfred groans under his breath and takes a step back. “Happy birthday, Jesus.”

Ludwig tosses the balled up posters, which Alfred catches. “The rent.” 

“You’re wasting your time, we’re broke. I can’t believe you’re going back on your word.” Mikkel scoffs.

“You know,” Ludwig starts heading back to his car. “I can garauntee on paper that you can stay here rent free, but only if you do one thing for me.” 

Mikkel and Alfred share a look. “What?”

“Convince Francis to cancel his...  _ performance. _ ” 

Mikkel sighs. “Just get an injunction, call the cops!”

“I did, and they’re on standby, but my investors would rather I handle this quietly.” Alfred rears up on Ludwig again, anger evident in his features. “You can’t quietly wipe out an entire tent city then watch It’s A Wonderful Life on TV!” 

Ludwig shrugs. “You want to produce films and write songs, you need somewhere to do it. It’s what we used to dream about, I’d think twice before fighting it. Just stop the protest, and you’ll have it made.” He turns to Alfred and Mikkel, a slight smirk on his face, which makes Alfred roll his eyes.

______________________________________________________________________

Tino Väinämöinen was a simple young man. He did the odd job here and there, always thankful for what he could get, and seemingly perpetually happy. At the moment, he was drumming a beat on an old white bucket he carried around, watching people pass by. A woman walked by, tossing a quarter on the bucket, and Tino paused to pick it up, smiling. He turned to her as she was walking away, face bright and cheery, “Merry Christmas!” then continued playing. He stopped after a moment, having seen something move in the alley. Curious, he grabbed his bucket and went to check it out. 

“ _H_ - _Hei_?”

He heard coughing, and realized there was a man sitting in the alley. Surprised, he ran up to him, and crouched at his side. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

Berwald looked up at Tino, “’m f’ne. ( _I'm fine._ )”

Tino didn’t look convinced, his hands hovering around Berwald, afraid to hurt him. “Did they get anything?”

Berwald coughs into a fist, wiping the blood from his face. “I d’dn’t have ‘ny m’ney but they took m’ st’ff. ( _I didn't have any money but they took my stuff._ )” Tino takes a rag out of his satchel and tries to dab at the blood, but Berwald waves him off. “N’, ‘m fine. _(No, I'm fine._ )”

Tino watches him, still concerned. ”...I’m Tino.” He smiles kindly. 

Berwald looks at him, “T’no?....M’ fr’inds call m’ Ox’n. Berw’ld. Berw’ld Ox’nstierna. ( _Tino?.... My friends call me Oxen. Berwald. Berwald Oxenstierna_.)” 

Tino nods. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” He helps Berwald up, wincing as the larger man lets out soft cries of pain. ”....I sort of have to hurry, I have a Life Support meeting.”

Berwald looks at him curiously. “L’fe S’pport?” They start walking. Tino nods. “Yeah, it’s for people with AIDS. People like me.” He looks off, hoping that this strange new man doesn’t find him disgusting. He finds himself wondering why that matters to him. It’s not like this ‘Oxen’ will ever see him again. Right?

Berwald lets out a grunt. “M’ too.”

______________________________________________________________________

Alfred sat tuning his guitar as Mikkel paced the floor, occasionally glancing at the balcony. He finally stops in front of Alfred after a few minutes, and Alfred looks up, eyebrow raised to show he’s listening. 

“I was gonna go look for Oxen, you wanna come? I thougt maybe we could all grab some dinner.” 

Alfred grimaces and sits back against the couch. “Zoom in on my empty wallet, Mik.”

”...Touché.... Take your AZT.” 

Then he’s gone. 

Alfred sighs, letting his hand go limp. He puts his hand back on his guitar, strums a few chords, and sings a line, before stopping suddenly and sighing again. He stares off into space, plucking out a melody, before he snaps out of it and sets his guitar aside, deciding to head up to the roof. He sits in a chair that’s been on that roof as long as he can remember, and he stares at the New York City skyline, briefly wishing he could see the stars past all these lamps. A tune drifts into his head of the last good song he ever wrote. It seems like a lifetime ago. In some ways, it was a lifetime ago.

_ “One song _

_ Glory _

_ One song before I go _

_ Glory _

_ One song to leave behind _

_ Find one song _

_ One last refrain _

_ Glory _

_ From the pretty-boy front man _

_ Who wasted opportunity _

_ One song _

_ He had the whole world at his feet” _

If he closed his eyes, he could remember the days when he traveled with his band, playing his guitar like his life depended on it, singing like his soul was trying to climb out of his throat. He could still remember the first time he saw her in the crowd. Could still remember the look on her face...

_ “Glory _

_ In the eyes of a young girl _

_ A young girl _

_ Find glory _

_ Beyong the cheap colored lights” _

Her laugh was more perfect than any sound he had ever heard, resonated in his heart more than any song he’d ever sang. Her smile lit up the room, blinding him and yet, at the same time, making him feel as if he were seeing for the first time. 

_ “One song _

_ Before the sun sets _

_ Glory _

_ On another empty life _

_ Time flies _

_ Time dies _

_ Glory _

_ One blaze of glory” _

Alfred did miss that life, but he knows the only thing that made it worth living was her. Her kisses. Her arms around his neck. Her soft laughter in his ear. 

_ “One blaze of glory _

_ Glory _

_ Find glory _

_ In a song that rings true _

_ Truth like a blazing fire _

_ An eternal flame _

_ Find one song _

_ A song about love _

_ Glory _

_ From the soul of a young man _

_ A young man” _

They were supposed to be eternal. That damn drug ruined it. Ruined them. It flooded her veins and took her away and he let it, too caught up in the rush, in the excitement, in the youth and stupidity of being a young man with nothing to tie him down but the one who was floating away. 

_ “Find the one song _

_ Before the virus takes hold _

_ Glory _

_ Like a sunset _

_ One song _

_ To redeem this empty life” _

The day she opened that letter and read the results: HIV Positive. That was the worst day of his life; or so he’d thought at the time. She was completely devastated, and his heart ached for her. He knew he’d spend the rest of her life with her, but not the rest of his, and it hurt. Like a cold dagger being plunged into his heart and a vice wrapped around his head. And she wasn’t even gone yet. 

_ “Time flies _

_ And then no need to endure anymore _

_ Time dies” _

His voice dies out, and he’s left looking over the edge of the roof, trying to forget all over again. He clenches his fists and heads back to the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist, the mystery dead girl is Belgium.


	3. Today for you, Tomorrow for me

He sets his guitar against the couch and hears a knock. “What’d you forget?” He asks as he opens it, expecting Mikkel. The face that greets him is his downstairs neighbor’s, the man who’d smiled up at him earlier. He held up a small white candle, hardly taller than his palm. “Got a light?”

Alfred raised an eyebrow.  _ So he’s British. _ He thought, and waved the man in. He wasn’t unattractive; short, wild hair the color of golden wheat, slender, long legs and a slightly round, angelic face, and bright green eyes situated under.... the  _ biggest  _ eyebrows Alfred has ever seen in his life, holy shit. Alfred shrugs to himself; they aren’t that bad, he guesses, they actually bring out the man’s eyes.

“I know you, you’re... You’re shivering.” 

The man shrugs, pulling his sweater tighter around himself. “It’s nothing, they just turned off my heat. Can you light my candle?” 

Alfred frowns slightly, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around the man’s shoulders. “What’re you staring at?” Alfred starts; he hadn’t realized that he was. “Nothing... the moonlight in your eyes. You look familiar.” Alfred lights the candle, and the man nods, then stumbles a bit, and Alfred reaches out to steady him. “Dude, you okay?” The man nods, “Just haven’t eaten much today. The room stopped spinning anyhow.” He smiles, and Alfred sucks in a quiet breath. “What?”

Alfred shaked his head. “Oh, nothing. Your smile just reminded me of...”

The man snorts softly. “I always remind people of someone. Who is she?”

Alfred purses his lips. “She died. Her name is Emma.”

Suddenly the man turns around to face him, frowning, holding up his candle. “It’s out again. Sorry about your friend... Can you light my candle?”

Alfred nods and lights it, not noticing how close the two of them are standing until he looks up, and the man’s intense green eyes are focused on him. “Yea- ow!” He pulls a hand to his chest, shaking it. Alfred frowns. “The wax...” The man shrugs slightly as Alfred grabs his hand to look. “It’s dripping.” He starts pulling Alfred’s hand to his chest, under his sweater. “I like it between my-“

“Fingers!” Alfred pulls his hand back, blushing, and looks away. “I figured.... Well... Good night.” The man nods and smiles, handing the blanket back and walking toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he turns around. 

“Did it blow out again?” The man frowns, “No, I think I dropped my stash...”

Alfred frowns slightly. “I know I’ve seen you around before- your candle’s out.” 

The man looks at his unlit candle and huffs in frustration, starting to look around the apartment. “I had it when I walked in the door. It was pure!- Is it on the floor?”

Alfred raises an eyebrow and looks around his feet. “The floor...?” He looks down at the man, who’s on his hands and knees, looking under the coffee table. “Uh...” Alfred flushes and looks away.

“You look familiar.” He gets on the floor, on the opposite side of the coffee table, and starts crawling along the floor, much like the man is doing as he rolls his eyes. “Like your dead girlfriend.”

”...Only when you smile. But I  _ know  _ I’ve seen you somewhere else.”

The man is silent a moment, before, “Do you go to the Cat Scratch club? That’s where I work. I’m a bartender.” 

Alfred sits up. “Right! And one time you got heeellla drunk and danced on the bartop!” 

The man laughs. “It’s a living.”

“I didn’t recognize you with clothes on.” Alfred jokes. The man turns red. 

“Can we light the candle again? It’ll be easier to look.” Alfred lights it and looks at the man’s face in the flame’s dim glow. “Why don’t you forget about that stuff, you look kinda young to be doin’... stuff like that.” The man huffs. “That’s none of your business, I’m an adult, I can make my own choices.” He continues to look around the apartment.

Alfred sighs. ”...I used to shiver like that.”

The man scowls slightly. “I told you, they turned off my heat-“

“I used to sweat.”

“I got a cold.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Silence.

“I used to be a junkie.” 

The man shrugs. “Now and then I like to feel good.”

“Uh-huh- oh!” He bends down and picks up the small baggie, the man coming up to him. “What’s that?” Alfred hides it in his back pocket, “Sorry, candybar wrapper.”

Alfred quickly snuffs the candle out and sits on the couch. The man looks down at him, annoyed. “What’d you do that for? Light it again!”

Alfred shrugs. “That was my last match.” After a moment, the man smirks. “Our eyes will adjust. Thank god for the moon.” He sits on the arm of the couch, his slender legs draped over Alfred’s lap. 

“I don’t think that’s the moon; I heard Spike Lee’s playing down the street.” The man huffs slightly, taking Alfred’s hand in his, and Alfred has to look away. “Ba humbug.”

“You have cold hands.”

The man smiles slightly, “Yours too.”

He drags Alfred up by his hand, then lets it go and slowly walks around him. Alfred shrugs. “I’m Alfred...?” The man smirks, plucking the small baggie out of Alfred’s back pocket. “They call me...” He waves the baggie in Alfred’s face. “Arthur.” 

And just like that, he saunters out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

______________________________________________________________________

The next morning, the phone rings as Alfred is pouring himself and Mikkel coffee. Mikkel comes walking out of his room, “We’ve got power.”

Alfred raises his mug, “Merry Christmas.”

They let the call go to voicemail, their answering machine a recording of them harmonizing as they drone “Speeeaaaaak”. Mikkel’s parents start talking about how much they miss him, then his dad takes the phone. 

“Listen, Mikkel, I’m sorry you got dumped by that frog. I say, c’est la vie, let him date your idiot friend’s brother,” Alfred raises a brow at this and Mikkel shoots him an apologetic look, “he doesn’t know what he’s missing. Happy holidays.” and then the line goes dead.

Alfred is snickering behind his mug, staring determinedly at the newspaper, and Mikkel rolls his eyes.

“You know, there’s times when we’re broke as hell, and I wonder why the hell I live with you,” Pause for dramatic effect. Alfred looks up, and Mikkel smirks, “then they call, and I remember exactly why.” Alfred snorts, and his gaze drifts to the window. Mikkel follows it and sees a message written on the window. God, that thing is dirty. 

‘XMAS 

BRUNCH

JUST US?

ARTHUR  ↓’

Mikkel snorts. “The bartender from the Cat Scratch club? Are you gonna go?”

Alfred shakes his head. “Nah.”

“What? Come on.”

“No.”

The door suddenly opens, and Berwald walks in, carrying a bucket and a bottle. “M’rry Chr’stm’s.” He says with a soft smile. 

“Oxen!” Alfred and Mikkel shout in unison, rushing to greet their friend.

Berwald tosses Mikkel the keys. “H’re.”

Mikkel laughs. “Fourteen hours late! Where the hell were ya?” They hug briefly, then Berwald and Alfred hug, and Berwald sets the bucket down, taking out cups and handing one to each of his friends. Mikkel grabs the bottle, “Stoli? You struck gold at MIT!” 

Berwald shakes his head. “They ‘xp’lled m’ f’r m’ theory ‘f ‘ctual real’ty, s’ I c’me h’me. M’rry Chr’stm’s.( _ They expelled me for my theory of actual reality, so I came home. Merry Christmas _ .)” They toasted their cups, and Berwald added, “I g’t a j’b ‘t NYU.( _ I got a job at NYU _ .)” 

Mikkel nodded, “So that’s how you can afford this shit.” Berwald shook his head and smiled, motioning for the other two to sit. When they did, he began clearing the coffee table and kitchen table as he talked. 

“G’ntlem’n, our b’n’fact’r ‘n th’s Chr’stm’s D’y, who’s ch’rty is ‘nly m’tched by t’lent; a n’w m’m’b’r ‘f the Alph’b’t C’ty Av’nt-g’rde, m’ ‘ngel, T’no V’nämöin’n.( _Gentleman, our benefactor on this Christmas Day, who’s charity is only matched by talent; a new member of the Alphabet City Avant-garde, my angel, Tino Väinämöinen_.)” He opens the door and Tino bounces in wearing a Santa outfit, money in his hands. 

“Today for you, tomorrow for me!”

Mikkel and Alfred look at each other, both obviously excited, but confused. 

Tino starts dancing around and singing.

_ “Today for you _

_ Tomorrow for me” _

__

He hands each of them the money, and Mikkel grows more confused. “Did you earn this on the street?”  _ Did Oxen seriously pick up a goddamn prostitute??? _

__

_ “It was my lucky day today on Avenue A _

_ When a lady in a limousine drove my way _

_ She said ‘Darling, be a dear _

_ Haven’t slept in a year’” _

__

He crouches in front of Alfred, poking his chest, and Alfred laughs lightly.

_ “’I need your help to make my neighbor’s yappy dog disappear _

_ This Akita, Evita, just won’t shut up _

_ I believe if you play nonstop that pup will _

_ Breathe it’s very last high-strung breath _

_ I’m certain that cur will bark itself to death’” _

__

By this point, all three of the men are laughing, watching Tino dance, twirling about in a Santa suit and waving around drum sticks.

_ “Today for you _

_ Tomorrow for me _

_ Today for you _

_ Tomorrow for me _

_ We agreed on a fee _

_ $1,000 guarantee, tax free _

_ And a bonus if I trim her tree” _

__

Tino mimics trimming a tree with his drumsticks in Alfred’s hair, and Berwald laughs harder.

_ “Now who could fortell that it would go so well? _

_ For sure as I am here that dog is now in doggy hell _

_ After an hour, Evita, in all her glory _

_ On the window ledge of that 23 rd story _

_ Like Thelma and Loiuse did when they got the blues _

_ Swan-dove into the courtyard of the Gracie Mews” _

__

He rolled from the side table, over Mikkel, into Berwald’s lap on the couch, who made a surprised sound and chuckled.

_ “Today for you _

_ Tomorrow for me _

_ Today for you _

_ Tomorrow for me” _

__

He then proceeded to tap out the most exhilarating beat with his sticks on Alfred and Mikkel’s metal table, and the pipes running along the ceiling. 

_ “Back on the street where I met my sweet _

_ Where he was moaning and groaning on the cold concrete _

_ The nurse took him home for some Mercurochrome” _

__

Both Alfred and Mikkel waggled their eyebrows at Berwald, who shook his head and blushed.

_ “Then I dressed his wounds and got him back on his feet _

_ Sing it! _

_ Today for you _

_ Tomorrow for me _

_ Today for you _

_ Tomorrow for me _

_ I say _

_ Today for you _

_ Tomorrow for me _

_ Today for you _

_ Tomorro~w _

_ For me!” _

__

He put his arms out as he finished, sitting on the coffee table, and Alfred and Mikkel cheered and clapped. “That was fuckin’ awesome dude!” Alfred high-fived him.

The phone rang, and they let it go to voicemail.

“Speeeaaak!”

Francis’ hesitant voice came over the speaker. “Mikkel? ... Hi, it’s me, Francis. Look, I have a bit of a problem, and I really need your help,”

Berwald sees the note from Arthur on the glass and motions to it, but Alfred waves him off.

“I hired Matthew as my production manager-” Alfred snorts loudly, having trouble containing his laughter as the French voice continues, ”-seems to be a bit...  _ insuffisant _ -(insifficient-)” Alfred barks out a laugh, and Mikkel sends him a glare as he gets up, ”-ould please,  _ chérie _ , come to ze performance space-” Mikkel grabs the phone, “ _ Bonjour _ , Francis,” There’s a faint, ‘hi, baby’ on the other line that makes Alfred roll his eyes. “sure, I’ll be there... Okay... No problem. Bye.” 

He hangs up. 

“Can you believe him? First he just, just  _ dumps me, _ now he wants me to come fix his sound equipment?” Berwald sighs. “Y’u c’ld’ve s’id n’. ( _ You could’ve said no _ .)” 

“I know, but...”

Alfred makes a whipping sound, and Mikkel sends him another glare as he puts his scarf on. 

“’lfred, w’nna c’me w’th m’ ‘nd T’no? ( _ Alfred, wanna come with me and Tino? _ )”

”..Where?”

Tino stands up, smiling. “Life Support.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. “On Christmas?”

Tino shrugs, “Some people have nowhere else to go today. You should come.”

Alfred grimaces and looks away. “Knock yourselves out.”

Tino invites Mikkel as well, who promises to go after he helps out Francis, and this time two voices are making whipping sounds as he trudged irritated out the door.

Mikkel knew the way to Francis’... _ venue  _ like the back of his hand. He’d gone to plenty of performances when they were dating, to show his support.  _ Not that it mattered, _ he thought as he wandered in, glancing around at the setup. 

“ _ Hallo _ ? Francis called me to come try and help fix the equipment.” 

Matthew came around from behind a speaker, looking confused. “Mikkel?”

Mikkel tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Long time no see.” Matthew just nods. Mikkel looks around. ”...Francis said he’d be here.” Matthew sighs, “Don’t hold your breath.”

Mikkel frowns slightly. “So typical...”

Matthew watches him look over the sound board. “You didn’t need to come.” Mikkel shrugs and asks Matthew to stand at the mic to see if it works, while he fiddles with the controls. After a few minutes, Matthew pipes up. “This is weird.”

Mikkel nods. “Very weird.”

“I’m so.... mad. I don’t know what to do. Fighting with this equipment I don’t understand, freezing my butt off, and now you’re here.” He drags a hand through his hair and hops down from the stage. 

Mikkel looks up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, Mikkel, you said so yourself.  _ This is weird.  _ You can’t tell me it doesn’t bother you to be alone with the person Francis dumped you for.” 

Mikkel grimaces. Yeah, he knew how that felt... “Feel like you’re going insane? Like... your brain’s on fire, but all you wanna do is drink gasoline?” 

Matthew gives him a weird look, “Actually, yeah..”

Mikkel laughs slightly, but not at all humerously. “I know this act;  _ le tango Francis _ . It’s a dark dizzy marry-go-round; as he keeps you dangling, he’s mangling your heart.”

Matthew shakes his head. “You’re wrong; not me.”

“He leaves you tossing and turning thinking about how his eyes just burn, leaving you yearning and churning.”

Matthew pauses. ”...Yeah...”

Mikkel nods. “Exactly. Has he ever pouted at you and called you  _ ma fleur _ ?”

Matthew huffs, slightly annoyed. “Never.”

“Have you ever doubted a kiss?”

Matthew stops, having turned to walk away. ”...Stop that.... Did you swoon when he walked through the door?”

Mikkel nodded. “All the time, so... be cautious.”

”...Did he moon over other boys?”

A snort. “More than moon.”

Matthew closes his eyes. “I’m getting nauseous.”

Mikkel pats his shoulder sympathetically. “C’mon, let’s get this done.” They get back on stage, and Mikkel fiddles around for a bit before he manages to fix the issue. A phone call comes and Matthew rushes to answer it, speaking in fluent french.

_ “Bonjour? Ah, bonjour, nous sommes- ‘ma fleur’?  Vous ne m'appelez jamais 'ma fleur'...Oubliez, nous sommes réparés _ .(Hello? Ah, hello, we’re- ‘my flower’? You never call me ‘my flower’... Forget it, we’re patched.)” He hangs up, and Mikkel gives him an amused look. “ _ Ma fleur _ .” Matthew huffs. “Shut up.”


	4. No Day But Today

Mikkel rushes to get to the Life Support meeting after making sure Matthew didn’t need any more help. He quietly enters the building, the group leader just starting up. Mikkel tries to be as quiet as possible while the man is talking. He has everyone introduce themselves, and Mikkel listens to the names of the people in the group, hearing Berwald and Tino introduce themselves, and he fumbles with his bag, his camera clanking against the chair he was setting his things on. Everyone in the group turns to look at him, and he stutters, “O-oh uh.. Don’t mind me, I’m not- I’m here with-” He gestures vaguely in Tino and Berwald’s direction, and Tino smiles, raising a hand and twiddling his fingers. The leader smiles at Tino, then nods at Mikkel. “Make yourself at home. Welcome.” 

Mikkel nods and organizes his things, then grabs his camera. “Does anyone have a problem with me recording, or...?” When no one says anything, he winds it up and starts recording. The members talk, and Mikkel learns some sad, exciting, and interesting things, but he doesn’t say anything while he records. When they stand up to sing their song, he walks around in a circle to catch more angles. 

_ “There’s only us _

_ There’s only this _

_ Forget regret _

_ Or life is yours to miss _

_ No other road _

_ No other way _

_ No day but today” _

At the Cat Scratch, Arthur is busy cleaning glasses and serving men too busy drooling over women who are too thin shaking what they don’t have for money. He rolls his eyes and hands off a shotglass full of whiskey to another man as a song comes up on the speakers. 

_ “What’s the time? _

_ Well it’s gotta be close to midnight _

_ My body’s talking to me _

_ It says ‘time for danger’” _

The men whistle and cheer as a dancer moves like... well, a dancer. Arthur pointedly ignores this. 

_ “It says ‘I wanna commit a crime _

_ Wanna be the cause of a fight _

_ I wanna put on a tight skirt _

_ And flirt with a stranger’ _

_ I’ve had a knack from way back _

_ Of breaking the rules once I learn the game” _

__

Arthur sighs and tunes the rest out, uninterested in the goings-on around him. His shift is almost over, then he can go home. Maybe he’ll even see Alfred again. Once his shift ends, he heads straight home, that song playing in his head. Inside his apartment, he removes his coat and scarf, and makes his way to the balcony and attaching stairs, climbing his way up to Alfred’s window. Alfred, of course, is playing his guitar, and turns at the sound of someone ascending the steps. Arthur opens the large windows that double as doors to the landing and climbs inside. “Let’s go out tonight.” He says with a smirk. Alfred raises an eyebrow and just watches as Arthur walks up to him, and suddenly pulls him into a kiss. 

After a moment, Alfred pulls away. “Who do you think you are, interrupting me when I’m playing? Get out, the door’s that way.” He gestures to the door. He wasn’t in the mood for more of Arthur’s games. “Take your powder and your candle, I don’t want any part of it. Not your... Your sweet words, or your soft accent, or the moonlight in your eyes. Goodbye, and good night.” He opens the front door, waving Arthur out. Arthur is stunned into silence, walking up to Alfred, who looks visibly upset, and reaches a hand out, just for Alfred to brush it away. 

“Another time or place, we might have hooked up, sure, but...” Alfred gives an irritated sigh. “If you’re looking for romance, come back another day.” Arthur watches as he goes back into the apartment and grabs his guitar, sitting on the couch. Arthur takes a couple steps towards him. 

”...The heart may freeze or burn, the pain gets easier, but you have to tell me. There’s no future or past, you just have to... Live like you’re dying. There’s only us, and this. Just... forget your regrets, or you’re going to miss out on so much.” 

Alfred had set down his guitar to listen, then sits back against the couch with a huff. “If you’re so wise, why are you doing smack, huh?” He gets up, grabbing Arthur’s wrist, and drags him to the door. “Take your needle and your stupid prayer, and get the moonlight out of your eyes.” He follows Arthur down the stairs, who at this point is just hurt and trying to get away from the taller man. “Another time and place, sure, we might’ve gotten together, but not now. You want to prove me wrong? Come back some other day.” Arthur runs down the stairs and out into the street, where he runs into Tino, Berwald, and Mikkel coming back from Life Support. Tino smiles at him, giving him a hug. Arthur sighs and hugs his old friend.

______________________________________________________________________

The next morning, as Mikkel is coming out of his room, the phone rings, and he lets it go to voicemail. 

“Speeeeaaaak.”

Ludwig’s voice comes over the speaker. “Mikkel, Alfred. It’s Ludwig. Look, you still have a few hours to stop Francis’ protest. My offer expires after dark.” He hangs up. 

Mikkel sighs and walks up to Alfred, who’s sitting in the window sill. “ _ Hallo. _ How you doing?” Alfred doesn’t respond. “Look, about last night-” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Mikkel sighs. “Arthur’s gonna be at Francis’ show tonight. You should come too. I’d hate to see you pass up something that could be good for you.” Alfred refuses to look at him. “You’ll only regret it.” Alfred snorts.

“I’ll live.” He drinks his coffee.

“Right...” Mikkel gives Alfred a small smile before leaving the apartment. 

Mikkel stands in the back of the room, recording yet another Life Support meeting. When his camera stops rolling, he doesn’t pause to wind it up, just sets it down and continues to watch and listen as people pour their hearts out about their struggles and their fears. After a moment, Alfred walks in, and Mikkel smiles, winding up his camera and recording again. Alfred puts his hand on Tino’s shoulder, and Tino and Berwald scoot over with smiles as Alfred joins them in the circle. Berwald puts an arm across Alfred’s shoulders, and Tino takes one of his hands. They stay like that for the rest of the meeting. 

As they’re leaving the building, Berwald turns to Alfred. 

“Gl’d y’u c’me, ‘m proud ‘f y’u. ( _ Glad you came, I’m proud of you _ .)” Alfred smiles, “Thanks.”

Down the street, two cops are trying to get a homeless woman to get off the ground, and Mikkel takes out his video camera, winding it up and recording. “Smile for  Emil Steilsson , officers.” The two cops look up, sneering, and walk away. The homeless woman turns to him, having woken up. “Who do you think you are? I don’t need no goddamn help from some bleeding-heart cameraman.” Tino and Berwald share a look behind Mikkel as he lowers his camera, frowning slightly. 

“It’s alright ma’am, he was just trying to-“

“Just trying to use me to kill his guilt.” She scowls at the group, and Mikkel’s frown deepens. “This place is full of artists. Hey, artist, you got a dollar?” She asks Mikkel, and he shakes his head, “No, sor-” 

“That’s what I thought.” And she walks away. 

They head to the subway, descending the stairs. “New York City, the center of the universe.” Tino says, “Times are bad, but I don’t think they can get much worse. Though, I suppose it’s comforting to know that anywhere else you’d go would be a pleasure cruise.” The other men laugh and nod as they all get on the subway. Berwald stands leaning against a pole while the others sit, “’m s’ck of gr’d’ng p’p’rs. L’t’s ‘pen a r’straunt ‘n S’nta Fe ‘nd l’ve N’w Y’rk t’ th’ roach’s ‘nd th’ m’ce. ( _ I’m sick of grading papers. Let’s open up a restaurant in Santa Fe and leave New York to the roaches and the mice.) _ ” The others chuckle, and Tino nods, smiling. “You teach?”

Berwald nods, “C’mp’t’r Age Ph’losoph’. Wh’n m’ st’d’nts w’ld r’th’r w’tch TV. ( _ Computer Age Philosophy. When my students would rather watch TV. _ )” Tino nods and shrugs, “America.” The rest of them nod, “America.”

Berwald looks at Alfred, “Y’re a s’ns’t’ve aesth’te, y’u c’n m’ke th’ m’nu. ( _ You’re an aethete, you can make the menu _ .)” He turns to Tino, “Y’u c’n dr’m a g’ntle dr’m, ‘nd ‘ll seat g’sts ‘s th’y c’me. ( _ You can drum a gentle drum, and I’ll seat guests as they come. _ )” Tino nods and jumps up, taking Berwald’s hands. 

“We’ll pack up and move so far away, and open a restaurant in Santa Fe to forget this cold Bohemian hell.”

Berwald looks at Tino with a small smile. “D’ y’u kn’w th’ w’y t’ S’nta Fe? ( _ Do you know the way to Santa Fe? _ )” Tino shakes his head. “No, but we can figure it out.” 

They sit the rest of the ride in comfortable silence, Tino under Berwald’s arm, smiling kindly. 

Mikkel looks at his watch as they’re exiting the subway, “Oh shit, I’m late for Francis’ sound check, I gotta go.” He grabs Alfred. “You can help me, c’mon.” Alfred rolls his eyes but follows as Mikkel and Tino call goodbyes to each other. 

Tino and Berwald continue to walk down the street, arm in arm. Tino hums to himself before looking up at Berwald, “Come live with me. I’ll be your shelter, and you won’t have to give me any money. Just... pay me in a thousand kisses!” Berwald chuckles. “I d’n’t h’ve m’ch, b’t sw’t k’sses ‘ve g’t t’ sp’re. ‘ll c’ver y’u. ( _ I don’t have much, but sweet kisses I’ve got to spare. I’ll cover you.) _ ” Tino blushes and smiles. 

“I think they were right when they said you can buy love, but I know you can rent it. And you’re my new lease.” 

Berwald smiles slightly and leans down to kiss Tino.

______________________________________________________________________

Alfred, who’s been at Francis’ venue for hours, is bored out of his mind, standing outside and waiting for one of the others to show up. Off in a more secluded area, he sees two people talking, standing close together. He doesn’t really think anything of it until he notices that one of them is Arthur, but he still shrugs it off.  _ It’s not my business, I told him I wasn’t interested.  _ Then he notices the other person hand Arthur something that he slips into his pocket, and Alfred starts walking. 

When he reaches Arthur, he stops, noticing the other person is his old dealer. “Hey,” He turns to Arthur, “can I talk to you for a sec?” The other man pushes him, “Don’t go stealing my clients, lover boy.” Alfred growls and gestures to the crowd forming around them, people filtering in to the building for the show. “You didn’t miss me, you won’t miss him. Look around! You have plenty of customers.” Arthur looks between them, taking Alfred’s arm. “Excuse us a moment.” 

He leads them a few feet away, then lets go of Alfred, who sighs. “Look, about last night... I’m sorry. I don’t know-” 

“Just forget it,” Arthur cuts him off. Alfred shakes his head. “I was out of line. Can I make it up to you?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “How?”

“A bunch of us are getting together at this café after Francis’ show.”

Arthur’s brow is still raised. ”...Yeah...?”

Alfred laughs softly. “You wanna come with?”

Arthur relaxes, smiling. “Sure, I’d like that.” They head inside, getting swept into the crowd. Alfred looks around, pointing out Mikkel to Arthur, who sees Tino. 

“Tino!” The man in question turns around, “Arthur!” The two of them catch up to the group, and Tino and Arthur share a brief hug. “You look good.” Tino comments with a smile. Arthur opens his mouth to reply, when music cuts in, and a motorcycle cuts through the crowd. People start cheering, calling out to the motorcyclist, who rides up onto the stage and takes off his helmet, shaking out his wavy blond hair. 

Mikkel huffs. Francis. Should’ve figured. 

Francis was an extremely attractive man; almost as tall as Mikkel, with shoulder length, wavy blond hair, and perpetual stubble along his jaw. He had enchanting blue eyes, smooth, light skin, and a wide, charming smile. The crowd starts chanting his name, which makes him smile wider. He stands in front of the mic, putting his hands up and waiting for the crowd to quiet down before he speaks. 

“Last night, I had a dream. I was in a desert called Cyberland. It was hot, my canteen had been leaking and I was.... Thirsty.” A bunch of girls giggled and cheered, and Mikkel rolled his eyes. Francis continued, “Out of the abyss walked a cow. Elsie. I asked if she had anything to drink, and she said,” He sang this next part. “I’m forbidden to produce milk. In Cyberland we only drink Diet Coke.” This made the crowd laugh. “She said,” This part was sang as well, in a much more melodious way, accompanied by a little dance that was mostly hand gestures. “Only thing to do is jump over the moon,” Up on a watch tower, guiding the spotlight, Matthew turned a crank that brought a luminescent crescent moon down behind Francis, making his hair glow. Suddenly Francis wrapped his hands around his neck and cried out, “I’ve gotta get out of here!” He started banging his head, golden locks flying about. “It’s like I’m being tied to the hood of a yellow rental truck, being packed in with fertilizer and fuel oil, pushed over a cliff by a suicidal Mickey Mouse! I’ve gotta gotta gotta gotta gotta gotta gotta gotta gotta gotta gotta gotta find a way,” He started singing again, and Mikkel smiled as he recorded. “To jump over the moon. Only thing to do is jump over the moon.” TV monitors turned on behind him, all displaying videos of him, providing background singing. Arthur shouted, “Yeah! Go Francis!”

“Then,” Francis stopped suddenly, “A little bulldog entered. His name, we have learned, is  _ Ludwig. _ ” He points to where Ludwig is standing with Mr. Vargas, Feliciano’s grandpa, and the spotlight follows until it’s illuminating the two men. The crowd boos. “And although he once had principles,” Francis has to talk louder to be heard over the crowd, “he abandoned them to live as a lapdog to a wealthy grandson of the revolution.” He starts singing again, and the spotlight moves back to him. “ _ Un, deux, trois _ , ‘that’s bull,’ he said, ‘ever since the cat took up the fiddle that cow’s been jumpy,’” He snapped along to the beat, and soon the crowd was too. “’The dish and the spoon were evicted from the table and eloped. She’s had trouble with that milk and the moon ever since, maybe it’s a,’” He grabs his chest, as if he’s grabbing a pair of boobs. “’Female thing. Cause who’d wanna leave Cyberland anyway? Walls aren’t so bad. The dish and the spoon for instance are down on their luck. They come knocking on my doghouse door and I say, “Not in my backyard, utensils! Go back to China.’” There was a collection of laughs. 

“’The only way out is up!’ Elsie whispered to me. ‘A leap of faith. Still thirsty?’” Francis gripped his throat again, getting up against the mic, the single word echoing in the abandoned building. “’Parched.’ ‘Have some milk.’ So I lowered myself beneath her swollen udder, and I sucked the sweetest milk I had ever tasted.” Francis then made sucking noises, and Mikkel couldn’t help but laugh. 

“’Climb onboard’ She said. And as a harvest moon rose over Cyberland, we reared back and sprang into a gallop.” Francis gallops on stage, and there are a few laughs. “Leaping out of orbit. I awoke, singing,” He starts singing and dancing again, “Only thing to do, only thing to do is jump. Only thing to do is jump over the moon.” People started cheering, and Matthew laughed from up on the tower. “Only thing to do is jump over the moon. Over the moon. Over the...” Francis stops, plugs his nose, and moos. Then he smiles widely, putting his arms out. “Moo with me.” He moos again, waving for people to do the same, and someone in the back of the crowd moos as well. “Yes! Who is that? Come on, moo with me!” People start to moo, spurred on my mob mentality and the adrenaline of the situation. “Yes! Come on, sir. Let it out, moo with me! Don’t be shy, let it go!” More and more people start mooing, the noise getting louder, the people feeding of of Francis’ energy, and he feeding of theirs. Mooing turns to cheering, which turns to shouting, and soon both the crowd and Francis are shouting and jumping around. Some of the members in the crowd start pushing against the cops who line the room, and Francis notices. 

“Hey, whoa, come on guys, it’s okay, it’s cool.” More and more cops and crowd members start pushing against each other. “This is supposed to be a peace rally- _officier, s'il vous plaît_! (officer, please!) Look, please-” Someone throws a bottle, which breaks at the edge of the stage, and the pushing turns to shoving, punching, and kicking. “Everyone please be calm.” An officer hits someone with his baton, a woman screams. “ _Oh mon dieu! (_ Oh my god!)” Suddenly, it’s an all out mob, people brawling with each other and the cops. The cops try to detain as many people as possible, restraining their arms and using handcuffs. “ _Arrête ça! (_ Stop it!)” Francis is clutching his hair, freaking out as he watches the fighting escalate. 

Ludwig and a couple cops help escort Mr. Vargas out of the building, and Mikkel and his friends try to escape as well. A cop grabs Tino from behind, and he cries out in alarm, struggling in the man’s grip. “Let go of me!” Another cop grabs Mikkel. “Oxen!” He cries out. Berwald tries to grab Tino from the officer, and a third one comes up and grabs him as well. The two of them struggle for a moment before Berwald breaks free and goes after Tino again. “L’t g’ ‘f m’ w’fe. ( _ Let go of my wife.) _ ” He manages to pry the cop’s arms apart as the other three members of their group struggle with the cops. Tino hugs onto Berwald like his life depends on it, and the two run outside. Matthew panics, turning off the spotlight and turning to climb down when a bottle smashes and he jumps, swearing under his breath. Francis grabs the mic. “Everyone, calm down. Stop, this is peaceful. Please!” He gives up and puts the mic back on the stand, running off before he can be detained as well. Mikkel continues to film the rioting before he ducks out as well.


	5. La Vie Boheme!

Francis fumes, walking quickly down the street, Matthew right beside him. “Ludwig got exactly what he wanted. He screwed up my show and got all those people arrested.” Matthew sighs softly. “The cops won’t hold them for long; they’ll let them go in a few hours.” They turn a corner and Alfred sighs. “Oh good, there they are.” Matthew and Alfred hug, Francis asking if everyone’s alright. Alfred introduces his brother to Berwald and Tino, and the group heads inside. Berwald stops Alfred just before he heads in. “Wh’re’s M’kkel?” Alfred shrugs. “I don’t know, but let’s wait for him inside, it’s freezing out here.” The two of them follow their friends inside, shaking the snow off their coats.

Not five minutes later, Mikkel runs into the small café, and everyone cheers. “There you are! Are you okay?” Alfred wraps an arm around his shoulders and Mikkel nods. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Tonight, on the eleven o’clock news, the lead story is gonna be your show.” He says, smiling at Francis. 

“ _ Excusez-moi?  _ (Excuse me?)” Francis asks, shocked. Mikkel grins. “They bought my footage of the riot. They’re gonna see the whole thing.” Arthur nods, “Congratulations.”

“Good work, Mikkel!” Matthew cheers. 

“You’re serious?” Francis asks. When Mikkel nods, Francis kisses him. Mikkel freezes, wide-eyed, and Francis pulls back with a huge smile. “How can I repay you?” Matthew slips between Francis and Mikkel, causing both of them to take a step back. “Let him buy us dinner.” He says jokingly. Just then, the owner of the café walks up. He’s a stern Swiss man, with hair almost to his shoulders. “Oh no you don’t. Not tonight. Get out.” Mikkel and the others look at each other, confused. “Why?” Mikkel asks. The man huffs, “You sit here all night and never order anything. You take up valuable space for  _ paying  _ customers.” 

Tino walks up to him, holding up a bundle of cash. “Tonight, I’ll be paying.” He smiles and marches up to a table, the rest of the group cheering and following after. They push a few tables together, sitting and chattering loudly. Francis looks over and notices Ludwig, Mr. Vargas, and his assistant Antonio sitting at the next table over, and smirks. “Ludwig Beilschmidt. The enemy of Avenue A. You have some nerve showing your face after what just happened.” Ludwig sighs and gets up, walking up to their table. “You know that was not my fault.” 

“ _ Va a diable.  _ (Go to hell.)”

“ _ Ruk.  _ (Jerk.)”

“You put the cops on standby.” Alfred points out. “I didn’t want it to get out of control.” Ludwig supplies. 

“Why did Muffy-” 

“Feliciano.” Ludwig cuts in.

”-miss the show?” Alfred asks.

“There... was a death in the family.” Ludwig says.

“Who died?” Tino asks innocently.

“Our Akita.” 

Tino, Berwald, Mikkel, and Alfred all look at each other, trying to suppress their laughter. That dog Tino played the drums to kill was  _ Ludwig and Feliciano’s? _

Ludwig sighs. “Look, I’m just trying to do some good. Do you really wanna live somewhere where people piss on your stoop every night? It’d be Bohemia. A fallacy in your head. This is Calcutta. Bohemia is dead.” Ludwig heads back to his table, and Mikkel smirks, getting up and standing at the head of the table. It takes him a moment to compose a serious expression, then he starts. 

“Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes. Here she lies. No one knew the worth of the late, great daughter of Mother Earth. On nights like this when we celebrate the birth in that little town of Bethlahem. We raise our glass, you bet your ass!” Francis stands on the table and moons Ludwig and Mr. Vargas, who looks apalled. Mikkel continues, standing on the table as well, holding up a beer mug. 

“La vie Bohème!”

The others at the table start chanting “La vie Bohème!”, laughing and dancing in their seats. 

“To days of inspiration, playing hooky, making something out of nothing! The need to express, to communicate! To going against the grain, going insane! Going mad!”

People around the café are cheering him on and laughing as he paces the table.

“To loving tension, no pension, to more than one dimension! To starving for attention, hating convention, hating pretension! Not to mention, of course, hating dear old  _ moeder en vader _ ! (mother and father!)”

Everyone gets up, dancing around the table, sneering and jeering at Ludwig and Mr. Vargas. Antonio, for all he’s worth, is simply tapping his foot to their rhythmic background chanting of “La vie Bohème!”.

“To riding you bike midday past three-piece suits! To fruits! To no absolutes! To absolut! To choice! To the Village Voice! To any passing fad! To being an ‘us’ for once, instead of a ‘them’!” He jumps down from the table.

Francis starts groping Matthew in front of them, and Mr. Vargas coughs into his fist. Francis looks up. “Hey mister, he’s my brother.” A waiter comes by and gets their orders, and Arthur and Tino jump up on the table, dancing together.

“To handcrafted beers made in local breweries! To yoga, to yogurt! To rice and beans and cheese!” They chant in unison. “To leather, to dildos! To curry vindaloo! To huevos rancheros!-” Antonio cheers, Ludwig shoots him a glare. ”-And Maya Angelou!”

Alfred and Francis start dancing in front of their table. “Emotion, devotion! To causing a commotion! Creation! Vacation!”

“Mucho masturbation.” Mikkel chimes in, and Ludwig shakes his head as the others laugh. Alfred and Francis continue. 

“Compassion! To fashion! To passion when it’s new!”

“To Sontag!” Alfred.

“To Sondheim!” Francis.

“To anything taboo!” Arthur and Tino.

“Ginsberg, Dylan, Cunningham, and Cage!” Everyone shouts. 

“L’nny Br’ce! ( _ Lenny Bruce _ !)” Berwald gestures at Alfred.

“Langston Hughes!” Alfred gestures at Berwald.

“To the stage!” Francis cries, draping himself backwards over the table. 

“To Uta! To Buddha! Pablo Neruda too!”

Tino and Mikkel stand on their chairs. “Why Dorothy and Toto went over the rainbow to blow off Auntie Em!” They both punch the air.

“La vie Bohème!”

Francis drapes himself over Matthew on top of the table and they start making out, and Mr. Vargas raises an eyebrow. “Brothers?”

They look at him, faces completely serious. “We’re close.” People move out of the way, revealing Tino on top of Berwald, and they look up, Tino smiling brightly. “Brothers!” He adds on. Everyone jumps up and starts dancing, shouting again.

“Bisexuals, trisexuals, Homo Sapiens!” Tino is dancing on the table. “Carcinogens, hallucinogens, men, Pee-wee Herman! German wine, Turpentine! Gertrude Stein! Antonioni, Bertolucci, Kurosawa! Carmina Burana! To apathy! To entropy! To empathy! Ecstasy!”

Mr. Vargas raises an eyebrow, glancing at Ludwig. 

“Václav Havel! The Sex Pistols! 8BC! To no shame! Never playing the game again!”

Their friend Gilbert, who’d met them at the café and was taking part in all this, laughs and puffs out smoke. “To marijuana!”

“To sodomy! It’s between God and me!” Mr. Vargas had had enough. He gets up to leave, Antonio having to catch up with him, since he was distracted. 

“To S&M! La vie Bohème!”

Berwald gets up in front of everyone. “’n h’n’ ‘ th’ d’th ‘f B’h’mia, ‘n ‘mpro’mptu s’lon w’ll comm’nce ‘mm’diat’ly follow’ng d’nn’r. Fr’nc’s Bonn’f’y, b’ck fr’m h’s sp’ct’c’l’r ‘ne-n’ght ‘ng’gem’nt ‘f th’ 11th street l’t, ( _In honor of the death of Bohemia, an impromptu salon will commence immediately following dinner._ _Francis Bonnefoy, back from his spectacular one-night engagement of the 11 th street lot,_)” Francis gets up on the table and starts pretending to do some spiritual dance. ”W’ll p’rf’rm N’t’ve ‘m’r’c’n d’nce, b’ckw’rds, through h’s v’c’d’r, ‘cc’mp’nied by h’ms’lf ‘n th’ ‘l’ctr’c c’llo, wh’ch h’’s n’v’r st’died. ( _Will perform Native American dance, backwards, through his vocoder, accompanied by himself on the electric cello. which he’s never studied._ )” Everyone laughs as Francis hops off the table. 

Alfred jumps on the table, looking down at Mikkel. “And Mikkel Densen will preview his new documentary about his inability to hold an erection on the High Holy Days.” He laughs at Mikkel’s expression. The two of them trade places, and Mikkel looks at Arthur. 

“And Arthur Kirkland, clad only in bubblewrap,” Everyone cheers as a (not too)drunk Arthur climbs on the bartop, taking his shirt off and dancing. “will perform his famous lawnchair handcuff dance to the sounds of iced tea being stirred.” Mikkel turns to Alfred, who’d picked up the guitar left on the stage. “And Alfred will attempt to write a bittersweet, evocative song,” Everyone quiets for a moment as Alfred plays a slow, calm riff, “That... Doesn’t remind us of Musetta’s Waltz.” Alfred rolls his eyes and sets the guitar down, his friends laughing. 

Tino gets up on the table as Mikkel hops down, and Berwald calls out, “T’no  V’nämöin’n w’ll m’del th’ l’t’st f’ll f’shions fr’m P’r’s wh’le ‘cc’mp’ny’ng h’ms’lf ‘n th’ t’n g’ll’n pl’st’c p’ckle t’b. ( _ Tino Väinämöinen will model the latest fall fashions from Paris while accompanying himself on the ten gallon plastic pickle tub. _ )” Tino continues to laugh, walking up and down the table like a model, as he talks. “And Berwald will recount his exploits as an anarchist including the tale of his successful reprogramming of the MIT retro-reality equipment to self-destruct as it broadcasts the words: Actual reality. ACT UP. Fight AIDS.” Tino hops off the table, and Berwald wraps an arm around him, laughing. 

While everyone else is cheering, Arthur sees Alfred messing with the guitar, and walks up to him. “Excuse me, did I do something wrong? I get invited, then ignored all night.” He crosses his arms as Alfred set the guitar down. 

“Look, I won’t lie, I’ve been trying. No one’s perfect; I’ve got baggage too.” Arthur huffs. 

“Life is short! I’m just looking for someone with baggage that goes with mine.”

“I-” An alarm goes off, and Arthur looks to this little device on his belt. When Alfred raises an eyebrow, he answers simply; “AZT break.”

“You too?” Arthur nods. 

Suddenly, Alfred grabs his wrist, dragging him out into the snow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antonio (Fernandez-Carriedo) - Spain  
> Gilbert (Beilschmidt) - Prussia  
> Boy am I sick of Berwald's mumbling.  
> Also, sorry for anyone who knows the musical really well and has noticed differences in who delivers lines. I just don't think Berwald would be the kind of guy to smoke marijuana, y'know??


	6. Je Fais

Alfred lets go of Arthur, turning to face him. “I should tell you, it’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship; I’m not exactly... Good at this stuff.”

Arthur nods, “I have yet to be in a relationship so... I don’t think either of us is worse off.” After a moment of silence, he adds, “I blew the candle out. That night. So I’d have an excuse to see you.” 

Alfred smiles. “That’s alright.” They start walking down the alley together, their breaths puffing in a white cloud between them as the snow fell on their shoulders and in their hair. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

Arthur nods. “So... Do you want to give it a try?” Alfred stops walking, watching Arthur for a moment before he nods. “I don’t know where this is going, but... Yeah, let’s try it.” They turn around and slowly head back to the door, but before they go in, Alfred takes Arthur’s hand. 

“Here goes.”

Before Arthur can ask what he’s talking about, Alfred cups his cheek and kisses him. Arthur’s breath stops, the places where Alfred is in contact with him are warm and electrifying. Before he can do much else, Alfred pulls back and leads Arthur back inside.

The two of them brush the snow off of themselves and each other, and Arthur smiles up at Alfred, slowly backing him into a pillar and wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck, kissing him. Berwald is the first to notice, and he points it out to everyone else. Mikkel sneaks up behind Arthur and starts clapping, and their other friends join in as Arthur jumps and looks around, blushing. 

They all go back to drinking, and twenty minutes later, Arthur is up on the bar again, dancing without a shirt. 

“To dance! No way to make a living! Masochism, pain, perfection! Muscle spasms, chiropractors, short careers, eating disorders!” He hops down, and Mikkel jumps up after him.

“Film! Adventure, tedium, no family, boring locations, darkrooms! Perfect faces, ego, money, Hollywood and sleaze!” Tino jumps up on the table once again and starts dancing. 

“Music! Food of love, emotion, mathematics, isolation, rhythm, power! Feeling, harmony, and heavy competition!” Francis and a very drunk Berwald replace Mikkel on the bar top. 

“Anarchy! Revolution! Justice screaming for solutions! Forcing changes, risk and danger! Making noise and making pleas!” They jump down, and everyone starts shouting, “To faggots, lezzies, dykes, cross dressers too!”

“To me!” Tino.

“To me!” Alfred.

“To me!” Mikkel.

“To you and you and you! To living with, living with, not dying from disease! Let he among us without sin be the first to condemn! Viva la vie Bohème!” Mikkel, Alfred, Arthur, and Berwald, faces all flush with drunkenness, jump up on the table and dance. Tino joins them, and soon when things start to calm down, Mikkel looks around and sees everyone kissing. Drunk assholes. 

______________________________________________________________________

New Year’s Eve, New York City, ten seconds from the ball drop. 

It seems like everyone on Avenue A is running around, drunk, with sparklers. The group had all gathered around a set of TVs, counting down to the New Year excitedly. 

“5!”

“4!”

“3!”

“2!”

”1!”

As the ball dropped, everyone screamed “Happy New Year’s!” and people ran around the street, celebrating with total strangers and friends alike. Mikkel wound up his camera as they all headed back, pointing it at Arthur and Alfred. 

“Hey, Arthur! Arthur! Arthur, give me your New Year’s resolutions!” Alfred and Arthur clung to each other, both drung, both staggering as they laughed and joked and talked. Arthur looked into the camera and smiled. “I’m going to give up my vices and go back to school!” Mikkel raises an eyebrow and nods. “That’s pretty awesome. Alfred?” 

“F-finish a... Finish a song.” Mikkel laughs, “Yeah, maybe this year?” Alfred flips him off, and Mikkel laughs again, turning his camera on Tino and Berwald, who were dressed up.

“And who’re you guys supposed to be?”

In a voice that had obviosly been practiced, Berwald looks into the camera with grave seriousness and says, “Bond. James Bond.” Which makes Mikkel lose it, laughing rauciously as Tino says, “And I’m Lady Gaga!” as he flips his “hair”. 

“V-very nice.” Mikkel says, still laughing, and turns to Francis and Matthew.

Francis, clad in a leather catsuit, kicks out, gets in a crouched stance, and hisses. Yes, he was drunk. Mikkel snorts. “You can take the man out of Barjols, but you can never take the Barjols out of the man!”

“ _ Mon chérie! ( _ My darling!) I ‘eard you got a job!” He shouted, leaning against Matthew, one arm sloppily thrown over the quiet man’s shoulders. Mikkel turned to walk alongside them, winding up his camera. “Nah, just that sleazy show Buzzline wanting to set up a meeting.”

Francis gasps. “We need  _ le représentant _ ! (an agent!)” 

Mikkel raises an eyebrow. “’we’?”

Francis stumbles, letting go of Matthew and pointing a finger at Mikkel. “Hey. I’m the reason you got on TV in the first place! Oh my god, we could do another protest! And this time you can shoot the whole thing for the TV show!” 

Mikkel sighs. “Not interested, sorry.”

“What? Why not?”

Mikkel rolls his eyes at the Frenchman. “Working for a show like Buzzline would be completely selling out!”

A long-suffering sigh. “ _ Approuvé,  _ (Okay,) but it’s nice to dream,  _ non _ ?” Mikkel shrugs, and Francis grabs his camera. “I’m sick of you always- hi Mikkel!” He says, pointing at him. 

Mikkel reaches out to take it back, but Francis takes a step back. “Francis, you’re gonna break it!” 

“Happy New Year, Mikkel!”

He makes another attempt to grab it. “This is not my birthday, give it back!”

Neither of them seem to notice as Matthew walks off in another direction.

“Out of all the years I’ve lived here in New York, I don’t think I’ve ever been in Times Square on New Years.” Alfred admits. 

Arthur looks up at him, a hand in the crook of his elbow as they head back to Mikkel and Alfred’s apartment. “Really?”

“I don’t think I want to do it again...” They both laugh softly. 

“Al.” Mikkel calls from behind him, and Alfred looks over his shoulder. “Yeah dude?” 

“Check out the door.” 

Alfred lets go of Arthur and jogs the last distance to the door, swearing as he grabs the lock on the latch. “Seriously? There’s a padlock on the door!” The others look at the door, then each other, confused. Tino asks Berwald to hold the bag he’s carrying, then goes over to a nearby metal trash bin, emptying it and carrying it up to the door. “T’no, wh’t ‘re y’u do’n? ( _ Tino, what are you doin’ _ ?)” He smiles at Berwald. “I saw this on TV once, watch!” He bangs the bin against the padlock, and Mikkel grimaces. “Watch your fingers...”

Tino continues to do this a couple more times before the lock breaks. He sets down the trash bin triumphantly, smiling as he takes the broken lock off the door and opens it. “After you!”

They walk into the apartment, Alfred opening the door, and Mikkel instantly notices something wrong. The place is  _ completely empty _ . “He took all our stuff!” Francis walked around the apartment. “Mine too.” 

“What a tosser.” Arthur grumbled. He knew Ludwig too, living in the same complex as them. 

“Well, technically,” Matthew piped up from the doorway, “now that you’re inside, you’re squatters. He can’t have you arrested.... It’s something, at least until you can figure out what to do.” Alfred nods, and Mikkel just shakes his head, frustrated and tired. Francis shrugs. “There’s always Buzzline.” He says with a smirk.

Mikkel walks down the sidewalk with his hand on his stomach, frowning. “I don’t like this, my stomach doesn’t feel right.”

“You’ll be fine.” Matthew says beside him. Mikkel looks down at his clothes. “Do I look alright? Is this okay?” Francis looks at him from Matthew’s other side. “ _ Oui.  _ You look perfect.” Matthew knew that tone; he sighed. Mikkel turns around and starts heading back. “I can’t do this.”

“Mikkel, come on,” Matthew stops him, “yes you can. I’ll do all the talking, alright? It’ll be fine.”

“Quit fussing over him, we’re going to be late!” Francis quickens his pace. 

They reach the building, and Mikkel looks up, letting out a low whistle. “It’s huge.”

“Welcome to corporate America.” Matthew sighs. They all head inside, making their way to the right floor and walking up to the reception desk. A kind woman smiled up at them, holding her hand up and talking to someone on the phone. Once she set the phone down, she looks up at the men with a smile, and Matthew smiles back kindly. “Hi, we’re here to see Sadik Adnan.”

“Your name please?” 

“Matthew Williams and Mikkel Densen.” Francis leans on the desk, smiling. “Francis Bonnefoy.” Matthew sighs and turns to his boyfriend. “Maybe you should wait out here.” Francis looks between Mikkel and Matthew, confused. “But I’m the one-” Matthew closes his eyes and refrains from sighing again. “We don’t want to come on too strong.” Mikkel just nods silently, standing off to the side.

“Okay, fine. _Quel_ _que_. (Whatever.)” Francis huffs. The receptionist directs them to Sadik’s office, and Francis stays behind as Matthew and Mikkel head inside. 

“How much did I love your footage?” Sadik asks. Mikkel opens his mouth to reply, but the man in the dark shades cuts him off. “So much. Reminds me of my Berkeley days. Fighting the good fight. Kudos.” Mikkel nods and says a soft thank you, intimidated by the other man. 

“I’ve also been working on a documentary... of the homeless here in New York City. And uh.... and HIV.” 

Sadik smiles, his canines showing in a diplay that sets Mikkel on edge. “ _ Great _ . I love it; edgy-” Matthew looks out through the windowed wall and sees Francis sitting on the front desk, obviously flirting with the receptionist, and clenches his jaw, focusing on what Sadik is saying. “Everything Buzzline’s about.” Matthew raises an eyebrow, “Really?”

Sadik chuckles, and Matthew can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand. “We may dip into the tabloids, but this  _ is  _ a news show, and your client has a fresh eye that can bring real stories to our audience.” Matthew glances over again and sees Francis writing something down while the receptionist smiles up at him. “We get the network programming, he gets the exposure. Not a bad way to start a career! So, what do you think?” 

Matthew looks away from Francis and nods. “Yeah. What about salary?” Mikkel is shooting him a sympathetic look; he must have seen it too. 

“On commission, on an escalating scale, starting at $3,000 (USD).” Matthew raises his eyebrows, looking at Mikkel, who still looks a little unsure. “You’re not going to get a better offer than that.” Mikkel thinks it over for a moment and nods, and Matthew smiles at Sadik. 

“We’ll take it.”

Mikkel marches out of the building, Matthew quickly catching up and clapping him on the shoulder with a smile. “Congratulations.”

“I sold my soul.”

“For three grand a segment!” Francis runs to catch up to them. “You wouldn’t have gotten anything without my protest.” Matthew groans. “Does everything have to be about you?” Mikkel walks a little slower, fading into the background, but is obviously surprised. For as long as he’s known Alfred and Matthew, he’s never heard Matthew talk to anyone like this. “Me?” Francis asks with incredulity. “You’re the one helping my ex-boyfriend!” Matthew scoffs and shrugs. “He needed a lawyer. I figured I should help out since you got him  _ and my brother  _ evicted.” Francis looks at him, shocked and offended. “You know what? Why don’t you two get an acountant’s ledger and a bottle of champagne and go at it.” He gestures as if shooing them off. 

Matthew grimaces. “Invite the girl you were just flirting to join us, and I will.” Francis laughs. “Oh my god. Come on,  _ ma fleur,  _ I was just being friendly!  _ Qu’est-ce que tu veux?  _ (What do you want?) I’ll do anything. Want me to be your slave? Want me to just... just do whatever you ask?” Mikkel stops at his bike, bending down to undo the lock, and Francis grabs Matthews arm to stop him. “Tell me what you want.”

“Commitment.”

Francis sighs and smiles. “That’s all? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Mikkel looks up at Francis.  _ ‘That’s all’? He shouldn’t have to ask you to commit, you frog.  _

Matthew looks at Francis, confused. “What?”

“All you have to do is ask, and I’m yours.” Mikkel tries his hardest to look like he’s not listening in.  _ Is he saying what I think he’s saying? _

“Will you commit to me?” Matthew asks. “To be with only me, for the rest of our lives?”

_ Holy shit he’s doing it. _ Mikkel watches, frowning, as Francis just gets down on one knee, taking one of his rings off his finger and putting it on Matthew’s left ring finger. 

“I will...  _ Je fais _ . (I do.)” He smiles up at Matthew.

_ Holy shit, he did it.  _

Francis stands up, and Matthew pulls him into a kiss. It’s safe to say by this point, they’ve both forgotten Mikkel was with them. 

“This can’t be happening.” He says to himself as he finally gets his feet to move, heading home without a word to the couple. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadik Adnan - Turkey
> 
> Also, Barjols is a small town in France. Mikkel is basically calling Francis uncivilized.


	7. I'll Cover You

The place they’d chosen to hold the engagement party was very elegant. It had actually been Francis’ parents’ idea, and they were paying for the whole thing. It was a large gathering of both men’s family and friends (hence why they rented out the main ballroom), with expensive, delicious food, good music, and of course, alcohol. There was also a few ice sculptures taking up table tops, because what kind of celebration would it be without giant blocks of ice chiseled to look like an armless woman.

Matthew and Francis sat with Francis’ parents, catching up and chatting along with the rest of the large group, who all quieted down when Alfred stood at the front of the room, tapping a champagne glass with a butterknife to get their attention. Once the room was quiet, he spoke. “So hey guys. Alfred here, brother of the gr- uh, one of the grooms.” A few people laughed. “I just wanted to say thanks to Francis’ folks for holding this little shindig, and thanks to all of you for coming to help me embarrass my baby brother.”

“We’re twins!” Matthew shouted, smiling. He may be just a little drunk. 

“Older by 4 minutes bro, still counts. Anyways.” The people who had laughed at their banter quieted. “I wanted to also say happy engagement, and while I haven’t always gotten along with you Francis, I’m glad you’re the guy my bro chose to be stuck with for the rest of his life.” More laughing from their friends. “And to Francis’ folks; welcome to the family. We may be small, but we love an awful lot.” He smiles at Arthur as he says this, then sits back down with him to the applause of the rest of the room. Francis’ parents stand up, holding out their glasses. “Everyone!” His mother says, “To Francis and Matthew.” An echo of the statement can be heard from everyone else as they raise their own glasses, toasting the couple. 

Francis walks off to grab another champagne glass, everyone he walks by smiling and shouting “cheers!” He smiles politely at them, but sighs when he gets to the drinks table. “Anything stronger than this?” The woman behind the table smiles at him. “Only champagne and wine, unfortunately.” Francis nods and grabs a wine glass, downing it, which was unusual for him. He sets the empty glass on the table and looks at the woman across from him, laughing quietly. “Hello.” The woman nods slightly, her smile showing her amusement as she tucks one chocolate ponytail behind her shoulder. “Hi!” 

Matthew thanks some distand relative and turns back to the conversation he was having with Mikkel. 

“Francis hasn’t even let me cogratulate him yet.”

“I know, because-” They both turn at the same time, seeing Francis talking to the woman managing the champagne. He leans across the table and fingers her necklace, his light skin contrasting beautifully with her tan as he asks where she got the necklace. Mikkel grimaces slightly, nodding and looking at Matthew, who’s still watching the two across the room. Francis laughs at something the waitress says, and Matthew doesn’t even look at Mikkel as he says, “Could you excuse me for a minute?” Mikkel gives a wordless nod as Matthew walks off, heading straight for the champagne table. When he gets there, he grabs Francis’ arm and looks at the waitress. “Hi, could you excuse us for a minute?” Francis is still laughing, and he smiles up at Matthew. “ _ Ma fleur! _ ” 

Matthew guides him a few feet away, and the sudden move seems to sober Francis. “What is it?”

“What the hell are you doing?” Matthew asks, not at all trying to hide how annoyed he is. 

“We were just talking.” He takes a sip of his wine as Matthew puts his hands on his waist. “Right.” Francis frowns slightly, “ _ Ma fleur,  _ we were just talking.”

Matthew sighs, “Francis,  _ please  _ don’t do this today.” Francis gets a look on his face and sets his wine down. “You know what mister Ivy League,” Matthew raises an eyebrow, his expression screaming  _ excuse me?  _ “I can’t take much more of this. This... obsessive-compulsive,  _ contrôle la paranoïa folle _ . (control freak paranoia.)” 

All Matthew can get out is an angry, disbelieving, “What?”

“I didn’t pierce my nipples because it grossed you out. I didn’t stay at the bar last night because you wanted to go home.  _ Faire un sac, Mattieu! _ (Grow a sack, Matthew!)”

“I wanted to go home because you were flirting with the woman in rubber.” Matthew looks around, hoping they weren’t drawing attention to themselves with Francis’ outburst. 

“There will always be women in rubber flirting with me!” People started to look; Arthur in particular seemed to find that last statement  _ very  _ amusing. “Give me a break!”

“That doesn’t mean you have to flirt back!” 

Francis sighs in exasperation. “Every single day while I’m walking down the street, I get catcalls and whistling and women throwing bedroom eyes at me. Ever since puberty, Mattieu. So don’t lose your mind, I’m  _ yours _ .” He grabs Matthew, placing their hands so they’re in a position for a slow dance, and sways a little on the spot. Most people have gone back to their own business, but their friends and Francis’ parents still watch worriedly. “Yes, I flirt, but that’s part of who I am! Either take me for who I am, who I’m meant to be, or leave me.” He smirks and puts Matthew’s hand on his crotch, and Matthew pulls his hand back, surprised, embarrassed, and angry. He starts to walk away, and Francis climbs onto one of the tables with an ice sculpture on it, getting more people’s attention and making Matthew turn around. Matthew looks around, mortified, as Francis continues. 

“A tiger in a cage can never see the sun. I need my stage! You’re the one I choose; people would kill to be in your shoes, Matthieu! And I know you love the limelight too.” Matthew is doing his best attempt at a glare, having never made an angry expression before, and Francis climbs down and starts stripping, running away when Matthew tries to stop him. “So be mine, and don’t waste my time with this useless drivel worrying if I’m still yours.”

“Don’t you dare!” Matthew demands, and Francis leaves his shirt alone as Matthew starts walking off again. Francis follows him out to the front of the building as he climbs the stairs, their friends and Francis’ parents close behind. “I can’t be anything other than myself! I thought you loved me the way I was! Don’t lose your head,  _ ma fleur _ , after all, who’s in your bed every night?” Matthew had stopped halfway up the stairs, and Francis walks up to him, smiling. “ _ Embrasse moi?  _ (Kiss me?)” 

“It won’t work. I look before I leap, I like margins and discipline. I practically make lists in my sleep, Francis. So what’s my sin? I always follow through on my promises! And against all odds, I love you. Am I not enough for you? Is that it? Am I a compromise to you now?” He takes a few steps down the stairs, shaking his head. “You spout all this stuff about accepting you as you are, but what about me? Take me as I am, or leave me, Francis. I’m getting sick of this.” He goes down the rest of the steps, into another room, and Francis follows. As does their little audience, who’s getting increasingly worried, Alfred in particular. 

“You’re a control freak! A snob! A  _ rétention anale _ ! (anal-retentive!)” 

Matthew stops and turns on the spot, his face red. “That’s IT! I’m done! Unless you can accept me as I am and take me back, I quit!” 

Francis just rolls his eyes and walks up to a stranger who’d been in there before him, throwing an arm over the man’s shoulder. “Men. Can’t live with or without them.” Matthew throws up his arms. “What’ll it be, Francis?  _ Prenez-moi ou laissez-moi!  _ (Take me or leave me!)”

“I could say the same to you!”

Matthew clenches his jaw, sighing through his nose. “I’m leaving.”

Francis scoffs. “ _ Je suis parti _ . (I’m gone.)” 

Francis stomps off the direction they came from, most likely to drink more wine, and Matthew stomps out another door in a blind rage. After a deafening silence, Alfred follows his brother. Francis’ mother looks at Mikkel hopefully. “Maybe you two can get back together?” Arthur scoffs, sneering at her, and guides Mikkel out of the room by his arm. The rest of the group follows. 

Mikkel opens the door to the apartment, looking around in disbelief. All around the apartment are boxes and big plastic bags full of stuff, making the apartment look more like a dump than a place someone lives at. “All our stuff’s back.” As everyone else enters the apartment, Mikkel notices Ludwig sitting near the window. “What’s going on?”

“I’m here to put an end to this war.” Alfred laughs, “What changed your mind?” Ludwig looks over Alfred’s shoulder. “Arthur did. We haven’t seen each other in a while, so we had dinner and we talked,” Alfred looks back at Arthur, confused and a little hurt. “And he convinced me to rethink the situation. Look, I regret the unlucky circumstance-“

“Circumstance?” Alfred cuts in, turning back to Ludwig. “Dude, you padlocked our door and you took all our stuff.”

Ludwig nods. “Right... Which is why I’m offering a new lease, alright? Rent free, courtesy of CyberArts. Mikkel, if you could record this for posterity please.” Alfred laughs. “Oh I see, this is just a publicity stunt for you. The benevolent god gives the poor artists their flat back.” Mikkel takes out a check, handing it to Ludwig. “Thanks, but we’re fine. This should cover us for a while.”

“Where’d you get this?”

Mikkel smiles. “It’s my first advance.”

“Okay. Congratulations.” And with that, Ludwig walks out the door, right past Berwald, Tino, and Arthur. Arthur follows Alfred to the back of the apartment.. 

“Alfred, nothing happened.” Alfred doesn’t look at him, instead opting to rifle through boxes. “We’re not- it was two years ago, and-.” Alfred looks up as Arthur takes a couple steps into the room. 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Arthur frowns. “It was before I met you.”

“I don’t care.” Alfred walks around him and out of the room. Arhtur sits on a stool, thinking. 

With Alfred mad at Arthur and not talking to him, Arthur starts using again. Not even a week after Ludwig gave them the apartment back, Arthur is meeting his usual dealer in the park. He goes to work, polishing glasses and serving drunk horndogs as girls dance to the beat of sleazy music. He doesn’t care for any of it, though. It’s just work. The colors blend together and wash out, leaving his world monochrome and cold. 

One day, as he’s sitting on his bed and getting ready to shoot up, Alfred walks in. Arthur stiffens, expecting a fight, and the two stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Finally, an expression of hurt and betrayal breaks out on Alfred’s face, and he leaves Arthur’s apartment without saying a word. Arthur sighs, undoing the band around his arm. He doesn’t shoot up. 

Arthur starts going to Life Support with Tino and Berwald, for a while. As the days turn into weeks, their group starts to get smaller, other members either too sick or dead to attend. Despite this, the three of them always manage to keep smiles on their faces, if only for each other. 

The worst part is the withdrawals. As they kick in, and get worse, Arthur doesn’t leave his apartment. He sits on the edge of his bathtub, shivering, covered in sweat. Nausea rolls over him like a roaring tide, and he hunches over, clenching his eyes shut and hugging himself. 

Tino starts to get worse. He gets cold very easily, now, and it seems like wherever they go, Berwald is holding him close, closer than he used to. When it’s just the two of them, they don’t force themselves to smile. They take the subway in sombre silence as Tino shivers in Berwald’s arms and they watch the rest of the car warily. Berwald wipes the sweat from his forehead and whispers to Tino in Swedish, rubbing his arms. 

Alfred finds Arthur shivering and sweating in his apartment and scoops him up, bringing him up to his own, placing him on the couch. Arthur continues to shake, but now it’s from tears as Alfred sits on the other end of the couch and pleads with him. Tells him he can do it, he just has to stay strong. Alfred pets his hair and cups his cheeks, smiling kindly at him, and Arthur can’t help but to think that he doesn’t deserve it. 

Before long, Tino’s bedridden in the hospital. He starts to look even paler than before, if that were possible, and he has a tube in his nose to help him breathe. Their group visits him every day. Even Francis and Matthew, though they refuse to talk to each other. They try to make Tino’s time as pleasant as they can, everyone joking around and making him smile. Berwald brings him flowers, and brings more when those start to whither and die. He smiles and laughs with the rest of the group, but in his eyes he’s slowly dying, right alongside Tino. 

Under the stress of losing a friend, even before he’s really gone, Arthur caves in. He meets up with his dealer in the alley outside the apartment building in the middle of the night, rubbing his arms to stave off the chill as they talk price. Alfred rounds the corner and sees this, and immediately starts running down the alley towards them. The dealer runs off, and Alfred stops in front of Arthur, trying to take the little baggie of powder. Arthur tries to push him away, begging Alfred to please just let him do this, please don’t take it, he needs it. Alfred gives up trying to grab it and instead grabs Arthur, cupping his cheek like on that night weeks ago, begging him not to do it, to just be strong. Arthur continues to fight against him, and Alfred gives up. He lets go of Arthur, throwing the little baggie on the ground, and walks away. Arthur stands in the alley, staring at the spot he saw Alfred turn the corner, unmoving for what feels like hours. 

Ludwig visits Arthur at work, and the two of them talk and drink for a while, Arthur seeking comfort in an old friend and Ludwig being more than willing to give it. Elsewhere, in a cold, white hospital room, Berwald cries into Tino’s shoulder, hugging him close and rocking him gently. 

Not many people showed up to Tino’s funeral. Most of the congregation was their group of friends; Mikkel and Alfred, Matthew, Francis, Ludwig and Arthur, and of course Berwald. The few people who did show up, none of them knew; Tino never talked about himself, aside from the occasional story about his home in Finland, and no one ever thought to ask. The funeral was held on Halloween. Fitting, considering Tino loved to dress up. He loved most holidays. He loved most things. He was a man who was full of love, taken in his prime, leaving a torn and ragged hole in the universe. 

“I knew we’d hit it off the moment we met.” Arthur stands at the head of the church, looking out at friends and strangers alike as they shared their stories about Tino. “There was a skinhead harassing him, and he just walked right up to him - in his latest drab, I think it was that new couture dress - and said, ‘I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be, and I’m more of a woman than you’re ever going to get.’” A few quiet laughs ring out through the church as Arthur sat back down, sucking on his lip to keep his face neutral. 

“There was this time,” Mikkel starts, “he walked up to this group of tourists, and they were petrified.” He laughs softly. “They were obviously lost, and they’d probably never been approached by a man with a Finnish accent in a Santa costume. He offered to get them out of Alphabet City, and let them take a picture with him, and helped them find the Circle Line.” A few nods as some people recalled Tino’s kindness in their own experiences. Mikkel sat down, fidgetting with his camera. 

Francis, for once, had dressed modestly, without his bright flashy designer clothes. The sight was more surprising than if he had shown up to a funeral in red pants. “Tino was... so much more original than any of us. He could... find a tablecloth on the street, make a shirt or something out of it, and sure enough by next year, that exact same shirt would be at the Gap.” He laughs softly. “He always said how lucky he was that we were all friends, but I think we were the lucky ones.  _ Au revoir, mon ami _ . (Goodbye, friend.)” As he went back to his seat, Berwald stood up and hugged him tightly. Berwald had never been much of a touchy-feely person, but today, he was hugging everyone. 

Berwald took Francis’ place at the head of the church, facing Tino’s coffin, and gently stroked the wood. On it’s surface was a picture of him, a few candles and flowers, and his drumsticks. Berwald adjusted his glasses, his eyes rimmed with red, and cleared his throat. He spoke slowly, trying his best to be heard clearly. He needed them to hear this. “Back when me ‘nd Tino first got t’gether, he had said someth’n to me. He told m’ that he’d be my shelter, and I’d only have t’ pay h’m in kisses.” He smiles sadly at the memory. “He said ah...  ‘I think they were right when they said you can’t buy love, but I know you can rent it. And you’re my new lease.’ He was wrong. He was mine.  _ Jag älskar dig, Tino.  _ (I love you, Tino.)”

Outside, Berwald places the last rose on Tino’s coffin, turning the drumsticks over in his hand as the others walk off to give him space. 

“Is it true you sold your guitar and bought a car?” Arthur asked, catching up to Alfred. 

“Yeah, leaving for Santa Fe right now. You seriously dating the kraut?” Arthur scowls. “You said you’d never speak to him again, if I remember.” Arthur sighs, “Al, not now.”

“Who said you have any say in who she talks to?” Francis cuts in. Alfred turns his head to glare at Francis over his shoulder. 

“Don’t stick your nose in other people’s business.” Matthew quips back. 

“Who said I was talking to you?” Francis demands. 

“We used to have this fight all the time-“

“Calm down.” Mikkel pleads, looking over his shoulder at Berwald, who’s heading towards them. 

”-he’d never admit I existed.”

“Everyone please-“

“He was the same way,” Arthur glares up at Alfred ahead of them. “He was always ‘run away’, ‘hit the road’, ‘don’t commit’. You’re full of shit!”

“Arthur,” Ludwig warns.

“He’s in denial.” Matthew glares at Francis.

“Guys-“

“Didn’t give an inch when I gave a mile!” Francis turns away from Matthew. 

“As did I!” Arthur shouts. Alfred scoffs, “Gave a mile to who?”

“Come on guys, chill.” Mikkel tries.

“I’d die for a taste of what Tino had.” Arthur says. “Someone to live for, who’s not afraid to say ‘I love you’.”

“Look, all your words are nice, Art, but love’s not a three-way street! You’ll never share real love until you love yourself,” Arthur looks offended and angry. “I should know.” Arthur opens his mouth to respond when Berwald puts a hand between them. “Please st’p. T’no’s gone, Alfr’d’s leav’ng. Our f’mly’s dying. T’no taught us ‘bout l’ve. I c’n’t b’lieve you’d d’sagree.” Francis wipes away Matthew’s tears.

Alfred frowns and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The woman running the drinks table is Seychelles, if that wasn't obvious.


	8. Seasons of Love

Alfred drove until he ran out of gas, then he refilled his tank and kept going. He’d drive until he was completely exhausted, and only then would he stop for the night at some motel. When his thoughts got too loud and the radio wasn’t drowning them out, he’d stop off and walk. He saw the arches in Colorado and the deserts of Nevada, until he’d finally reached California a week after he’d left. As soon as he got to Santa Fe, he sold his car and bought a guitar from a local pawn shop. He played on street corners, his case open, watching as people walked by and nodding to those who dropped money in his case. Everywhere he looked, he saw Arthur. He came to Santa Fe to forget him, but now the green eyed man was all he thought about. 

Mikkel, back in New York City, had dived into his work, trying his best to forget the friend who left him behind. He drove around with news anchors, recording them as they reported on various stories around the city. He often found himself staring out the window of the news van, letting his mind drift thoughtlessly. He’d spend his evenings going over footage and editing clips, working until he was too tired to think, then finally collapsing into bed. He’d be recording a scene of the normal New York day, and he’d hear Tino in his ear, making him smile or laugh. If only he were here now; maybe he’d’ve been able to convince Alfred to stay. 

After a year, Alfred couldn’t take it. He grabbed his belongings (really just the guitar) and hopped a bus headed for New York. He had to go back. He spent the whole ride back thinking of Arthur and writing in his songbook.

Mikkel was working well into the night, sometimes not even going to bed until the sun came up, or just not sleeping at all. He needed his best friend back. Until that happened though, he’d pour his heart into finishing his film. 

As soon as the bus stopped, Alfred hit the ground running, heading straight for their apartment. When he got there, he headed to the roof, and found Mikkel looking out at the landscape. Mikkel turned at the sound of the door closing behind Alfred, and they two of them just stood there for a moment, before they came together in a tight hug. 

Alfred was getting ready to head out of the apartment when the phone rang, and he let it go to voicemail. 

“Speeeaaaak.”

“Hey Alfred, Mikkel. It’s Ludwig,” Alfred looks at the answering machine, confused. “I was wondering if either of you have seen Arthur. He’s dropped out of rehab, and I haven’t heard from him in a couple of weeks. I’m worried he’s started using again-” Alfred goes out to the balcony and takes the stairs to Arthur’s apartment, looking in the windows, but there was no sign of the grumpy blonde. 

Over the next couple weeks, the group all keep in close contact with each other, updating one another, all of them looking for Arthur. Francis and Matthew started handing out flyers, asking passerby if they’d seen him. Arthur hadn’t shown up for work in a while, and eventually Mikkel filed a missing persons report. 

Before they knew it, it was Christmas Eve again. The last year had gone by so quickly, and still no sign of Arthur. Mikkel and Alfred were sitting around the apartment when they got a call and let it go to voicemail.

“Speeeeeeaaaak.”

“It’s m’. Thr’w d’wn the k’ys.” Mikkel smiles, grabbing the keys. Berwald had gone home for the last month to visit with his parents, who were getting too old to make a trip from Sweden to the states. “Look who’s home! Try not to get your ass kicked this time, Oxen!” He tosses the keys down to Berwald, just like last year, and heads back inside. A moment later, Berwald walks through the front door, and they all wish each other a merry Christmas. Alfred and Berwald hug briefly. “H’rd fr’m Arth’r?” Alfred shakes his head, and Berwald shares a small sympathetic smile. “Oh, y’u g’t th’ proj’ctor. Y’u f’n’sh your m’vie? ( _ Oh, you got the projector. You finish your movie?) _ ” Mikkel smiles and nods. “I wanna see it.” Mikkel laughs, “Alright.”

Berwald set down his stuff and pulls some money out of his pocket. “H’re, use th’s t’ g’t s’me heat ‘n h’re. ( _ Here, use this to get some heat in here. _ )” Mikkel stares. “You didn’t have to do that, Oxen. Where’d you even get this? Are you back at NYU?”

“Nope.”

“Then how?”

Berwald grins. “I r’wired th’ ATM ‘t th’ Food Empor’m. N’w all y’u need ‘s a c’de. ( _ I rewired the ATM at the Food Emporium. Now all you need is a code.) _ ”

“What’s the code?” Alfred asks. Berwald smiles. “T-I-N-O. Cheers.” They all toast their cups of alcohol, which Berwald had poured as they talked. 

Suddenly, someone was shouting from the street. “Mikkel? Alfred? Anyone? Help!” The three men rush out to the balcony to see what’s going on to find Francis and Matthew, the latter of whom is holding an unconscious Arthur. “We can’t get him up the stairs.  _ Dépêche-toi s'il te plaît! _ (Hurry up, please!)” Francis looked panicked, and Alfred rushed down the stairs to take Arthur from Matthew. “He’s been living on the street. He wanted to come here, we found him in the park.” They rush up to the apartment, Berwald helping Alfred carry Arthur. Francis looks around as he enters. “There’s no room on your couch.”

“Just clear the table,” Mikkel says, “We’ll put him there.” They clear off the table, draping a blanket and pillow on top of it, and Alfred and Berwald set him down on it. Alfred takes off his bomber jacket and puts it on Arthur like a blanket. “We need some heat in here. I’m gonna start a fire.” Mikkel says. 

“I’m c’lling 911.” Berwald says as Alfred sits on the edge of the table next to Arthur, cupping his face as he wakes up. “Alfred... You’re back.”

“Yeah... Yeah, I’m back, Arty. I gotcha.” He smiles at Arthur, who smiles back. 

“I should tell you... Ludwig wasn’t-“

“Ssh, I know.” Alfred holds Arthur’s hand to his chest, rubbing his thumb along the knuckles. “I should tell you why I left. It wasn’t cause I didn’t- I mean-” 

“I know.” Arthur reassured him. “I love you.” Arthur turns his head and coughs, gripping Alfred’s hand. 

Alfred frowns, tearing up slightly. “Who do you think you are, leaving me alone with my guitar?” Arthur looks like he’s about to pass out, his skin pale and sickly, bags under his eyes. “Hold on, I want you to hear something. It’s.... It’s not much, but it took me all year. ” Arthur opened his eyes and looked up at Alfred, who started to sing softly. 

_ “Your eyes _

_ As we said our goodbyes _

_ Can’t get them out of my mind _

_ And I find _

_ I can’t hide _

_ From your eyes _

_ The ones that took me by surprise _

_ The night you came into my life _

__

_ “Where there’s moonlight _

_ I see your eyes _

_ How’d I let you slip away  _

_ When I’m longing so to hold you? _

_ Now I’d die for one more day _

_ Cause there’s something I should have told you _

_ Yes there’s something I should have told you _

_ When I looked into your eyes”  _

__

Alfred pets Arthur’s hair as he sings, and Arthur looks almost sad as he looks up at Alfred and listens to his song.

_ Why does distance make us wise? _

_ You were the song all along _

_ And before the song dies _

_ I should tell you _

_ I should tell you _

_ I have always loved you _

_ You can see it in my eyes”  _

__

Arthur closes his eyes once more, and falls unconscious. Alfred hugs him close, “Arthur!” Arthur’s head lolls back, and Alfred kisses his cheek before setting him back down. Everything goes silent as Alfred holds back tears, and the others mourn another friend gone. After a moment, Arthur’s hand twitches, and Alfred snaps to attention. “Arthur?” Arthur coughs as he starts breathing again, and Alfred slowly helps him sit up as the others approach the table. They’re all silent, worried expressions on their faces as they watch Arthur adjust to his surroundings. 

“I was heading toward this warm... white light. I swear... Tino was there,” Berwald smiles at that. “And he looked good.” Berwald chuckles. “And he said to me: ‘Turn around Arthur, and listen to that boy’s song.’” Alfred laughs and cups Arthur’s face again. “You’re drenched.” He says with a smile in his voice. Francis puts a hand to Arthur’s forehead and smiles. “Your fever’s breaking.” As everyone settled down, letting the relief wash over them, Mikkel moved to his projector, turning it on, his movie displaying on the far wall of their apartment. The title screen read “TODAY 4 U”, a silent tribute to Tino, and a memory of the first time they met. 

The film was a bunch of small clips of their group, from the day Tino came spinning into their apartment dressed as Santa, to some of their last moments together before Tino’s passing. There were shots of each member of the group by themselves, as well as candid moments he’d been filming without anyone’s knowledge; they were either too busy to notice, or Mikkel had managed to be discrete enough to not be seen. Of course, there were also the moments they did know they were being filmed, like that New Year’s Eve that seemed like a lifetime ago. There were shots of the three couples, of course, and Francis’ protest; a brief clip of him jumping around trying to get people to moo. The video finally comes to a close with a brief shot of Tino, smiling and waving into the camera. 

**_ There’s only us / There’s only this / Forget regret / Or life is yours to miss / No other road / No other way / No day but today / I can’t control / My destiny / I trust my soul / My only goal / Is just to be / There’s only now / There’s only here / Give in to love / Or live in fear / No other path / No other way / No day but today _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading this! I just really love this musical, and Hetalia, and I wanted to combine the two. I already have an idea for another kind of Hetalia/Rent mashup, but that'll come later. It won't be like this, so (at the risk of sounding arrogant) I recommend reading it once I put it up! Stay tuned! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> I do not own Hetalia or RENT, all credit goes to their creators.


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